


a fever you can’t sweat out

by suzukiblu



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Age Difference, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Teacher-Student Relationship, Trapped, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: Kegan is restless tonight. That isn’t something unusual. Ryze ignores him to meditate, which isn’t unusual either.Well . . . no.Kegan is difficult to ignore.
Relationships: Kegan Rodhe/Ryze
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	a fever you can’t sweat out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckyh2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyh2112/gifts).



> Written for beckyh2112, who wanted Kegan Rodhe/Ryze and porn. I do not know very much about League of Legends but this is not the first time I learned a fandom for the porn. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks to slackeremeritus for beta services!

Kegan is restless tonight. That isn’t something unusual. Ryze ignores him to meditate, which isn’t unusual either. 

Well . . . no. 

Kegan is difficult to ignore. 

But Ryze meditates all the same, because he must. Kegan paces their latest shelter, a low-ceilinged cave that skulks in mountain stone, and Ryze ignores him. Outside the wicked wind and vicious ice are bitter and ruthless and waiting for a chance to kill them. 

They still have a long journey ahead, as always. 

And Kegan is still himself, as always. 

“Master,” he says. Ryze tips his head very slightly in acknowledgement, not bothering to open his eyes. He hears the simmering of Kegan’s silence, and waits for the other to speak. _“Master.”_

Ryze opens his eyes. Kegan stands on the other side of their small fire, hands clenched in fists and scarred face tight with tension. They have been in this cave for some time. The storm outside has raged for days. There is very little food left, and less wood. 

They may yet die here, Ryze supposes, although he cannot die yet. There is too much work to do. 

“The wood’s almost gone,” Kegan says, clearly struggling not to sound curt or angry. He always does, of course. 

“Yes,” Ryze says. 

“I’m going for more,” Kegan says abruptly, and Ryze just looks at him. They can only go so far in the storm. A step too far, and they’d never find this small shelter again. The trees and ground outside are all buried in snow. 

Kegan’s face twists in frustration, because he knows that, of course. It doesn’t keep him from stalking away from their small fire and towards the mouth of the cave. 

“The wood will be frozen,” Ryze reminds him. 

“It’ll thaw,” Kegan says tersely. 

“And dry, I suppose?” 

“Sooner than if we don’t get it now!” Kegan snaps. Ryze looks at him a moment longer. He thinks Kegan might go mad, stifled in here any longer. 

They don’t have much choice about it, of course. 

“Very well,” Ryze says anyway, and Kegan storms out into the blizzard as if it’s somehow wronged him. He wants to control things so _badly_. 

Ryze closes his eyes and waits. 

He doesn’t have to wait very long. Kegan comes back covered in snow and ice and dragging several long lengths of broken, frozen wood. It looks as if he’s torn down one of the scrubby trees that cover this mountain. Ryze is surprised he managed it, given their situation, but at the same time, it is, of course, Kegan. Stubbornness has seen him through where wisdom won’t more than once. 

“You are covered in snow,” he says. Kegan spits on the floor, then starts hacking apart the wood. It’s not much, so far as replies go, so Ryze returns to his meditation. The sound of cracking wood fills the cave, and Kegan continues to radiate frustration and repressed energy. Ryze lets it wash over him in silence. 

Eventually, he reopens his eyes to find the wood all broken down and Kegan pacing the cave again, no less restless than he started. Ryze considers trying to calm him, but Kegan is difficult to calm at the best of times, no matter how hard they both try. The chances of setting him off are much higher than the chances of soothing him, and that would hardly help the situation. 

Kegan is still covered in ice crystals. Ryze doesn’t mention it. 

“Master,” Kegan says again, but seems to have nothing to follow it with. He keeps pacing. He’s not used to being cooped up like this. Ryze watches him idly, wondering what’s going through his agitated mind. 

“Kegan,” he says patiently. Kegan clenches his fists again. 

“This is miserable,” he spits. “We’re in a _grave_.” 

“Not quite yet,” Ryze says. “Sit with me.” 

“I don’t want to sit!” Kegan snaps, raking a hand back through his hair. Ryze keeps watching him. It’s hardly an imposition, though that’s not the kind of thing he should be thinking about. “Can’t you _do_ something?” 

“I can sit,” Ryze says. Kegan shoots him a glare that he _probably_ doesn’t intend to be as vicious as it is. His coat and hair are wet with melted ice, and a droplet of water trickles down his temple and over his scars. He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to steady himself, and Ryze waits for him to either succeed or fail. 

Given the situation, he’s not particularly surprised to see the other fail. He’d offer a lesson or some other form of distraction, but he’s tried that several times already and that has yet to succeed either. Kegan is too pent-up, too anxious, too temperamental. Too _Kegan_. 

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” Kegan says. 

“My answer remains the same,” Ryze says. “Unless you are after another lesson.” 

“No,” Kegan says. “I want something else.” 

Ryze tilts his head questioningly. Kegan paces the cave again, the last of the melting ice sloughing off his shoulders. He doesn’t _know_ what he wants, Ryze suspects. 

“Sit with me,” he says, gesturing at the fire. 

“I can’t,” Kegan says tightly, his damp shoulders hunching. 

“Try,” Ryze says. 

“You _always_ tell me to try,” Kegan says. “It never helps.” 

“Fortunately, this is easier than magic,” Ryze says. “Come here. Sit with me.” 

Kegan thrums with frustrated energy, then comes over and throws himself down by the fire, hands fisting against his thighs. A different student, Ryze would guide in meditation or speak soothingly to. Kegan is not a different student, though. 

“What do you need?” Ryze says. 

“Better weather,” Kegan says sourly. Ryze huffs quietly in response. 

“Try again,” he says. Kegan looks at him, then looks at the fire. He still looks frustrated. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s not enough.” 

“It?” Ryze says. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Kegan says. He’s so _young_ , Ryze thinks. So brutally mortal. 

“You had better figure something out, then,” he says. 

“That is _not_ helpful, Master,” Kegan says, tightening his fists again. “I just—it’s too much.” 

“Too much, or not enough?” Ryze asks, raising an eyebrow. “Which is it?” 

“It’s both,” Kegan says with a glower. He starts to get up again, then forces himself still. Ryze sighs. Perhaps if he were a better teacher . . . 

Perhaps not, though. 

“The storm will not last forever,” Ryze says. Kegan’s fingers dig into his thighs. 

“I know that,” he says tightly. “It’s not just the storm.” 

“No?” Ryze tilts his head. Kegan simmers. 

“Forget it,” he says. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Ryze finds that unlikely, given how upset the other’s been. 

“Very well,” he says anyway, and Kegan bares his teeth. They sit there for a long time in silence, doing little but tending the fire, and Kegan continues to simmer. Ryze waits for him to either settle or boil over, but neither moment comes. 

He does wish he were a better teacher. 

Eventually, it’s well past time they eat, and he rations out a meager dinner for them to cook over the fire. Or breakfast. Or who knows, really, given the weather. Kegan watches him with too-bright eyes, still tense and restless. Ryze doesn’t comment. Kegan will settle, or he will boil. There’s nothing he can do either way now. 

Dinner cooks. They eat it. The wind howls outside, merciless as ever. 

“Master,” Kegan says, putting down his bowl. Ryze looks at him. It is, again, no imposition. Kegan fists his hands again, and bites his tongue. Ryze wonders what it is he’s so afraid to say. 

“Afraid” isn’t really the right word, of course, but all the same. 

“What is it?” he asks, probably unnecessarily. 

“I hate this,” Kegan says, and stares at him with fire-bright eyes and a frustrated expression. Ryze knows that already, and doubts it was actually the thing Kegan wants to say. 

“I am aware,” he says. Kegan grits his teeth. He doesn’t snap or snarl, though it’s obvious he wants to. He looks like he wants to hurt something. Ryze . . . he wants to do something about that, but there’s nothing he can think of that would actually help. 

“I need to do something,” Kegan says. 

“Do something, then,” Ryze says. 

“You won’t forgive me,” Kegan says tightly, shaking his head. 

“Will you need forgiven?” Ryze says, and Kegan stares at him again. The fire is still lighting his eyes, his face, his scars. He is all tension and frustration and the barest touch of misery. 

And then he lunges. 

Ryze expects to be struck, in all honesty. 

That isn’t what he gets. 

Arms wrap around his neck, and Kegan presses in close and stares ever more intently at him, and Ryze realizes what the other means to do in the moment before he does it. 

“Ah,” he says, eyes just barely widening, and Kegan presses their mouths together, swift and rough. His fingers dig into Ryze’s back, just for an instant, and then he pulls back. Ryze looks at him. 

“See?” Kegan smiles grimly. 

“Mm,” Ryze says instead of anything intelligent or useful. Kegan’s arms are still around him, heavy and strong. He is aware of their weight, but not where any of this came from. If he’d noticed this before . . . 

He’s not sure, actually, what he would’ve done if he’d noticed this before. 

“Well?” Kegan says, and Ryze realizes _he_ expects struck, or shoved away, or some manner of insult or injury. It isn’t subtle. 

“You have no sense of propriety, do you,” he says, and Kegan wrinkles his nose, looking—confused, suddenly, and loosening his grip on him. Ryze regrets it, a bit. 

“What?” Kegan says. 

“Never mind,” Ryze says. “You have not upset me.” 

Kegan looks no less confused. 

“What?” he says again, and Ryze lays a hand on his arm, the point of contact a strange and unfamiliar thing. It’s . . . been some time since he was touched. Or touched someone else. He wonders how long it’s been for Kegan. 

“You have not upset me,” he repeats patiently. “Do you feel better?” 

“. . . no,” Kegan says, his arms tensing around him. “No, I don’t.” 

Ryze opens his mouth to speak again, and Kegan kisses him again. He wasn’t going to say anything particularly important, so he doesn’t pull back from the contact. Kegan seems to take that as an excuse to embolden himself, because he bites at his mouth and digs his fingers in against his back again. He’s rough. Ryze wouldn’t have expected differently, of course. 

“Master,” Kegan says, almost softly, and kisses him again, and again, and . . . 

Ryze kisses back. There are several better ideas and better things to do, but that’s the one he chooses. Kegan makes a noise between their mouths, something hot and shocked and _eager_ , and kisses him harder. There’s something frantic in him, and he doesn’t attempt to restrain it. Ryze allows it. Kegan kisses him too roughly and drags his fingers across his back and bites at his mouth again, and it’s been a long, long time since anyone touched him. 

Much longer since someone touched him _eagerly_. 

It’s . . . difficult, not to accept it. 

Especially difficult because it’s _Kegan_ , and . . . 

Ryze doesn’t pursue that line of thought. Not just now. He puts a hand on Kegan’s shoulder and listens to the breathless little noises Kegan makes as he kisses back. “Little” might be the wrong word, though—Kegan is _loud_. 

Not that it matters, Ryze supposes. There’s hardly anyone else around to hear. 

Kegan pushes his mouth across his jaw and gasps against his skin, and Ryze strokes a hand across the heavy shoulder of his coat. Kegan responds as if he’s touching him much more intimately than that. He presses in close against Ryze’s body urgently, and Ryze wonders if he was ever like this himself. He can’t remember it, if he was. 

He can’t say he minds it, though. 

“Kegan,” he says carefully, and Kegan bites his throat and _squirms_ into his lap. 

“Master,” he pants in reply, or possibly says just to say it. He bites his throat again. It’ll leave a mark, for certain. 

“Steady,” Ryze says, touching the back of the other’s head lightly. Kegan shudders, again like it’s something intimate. Again, Ryze wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him. 

Either of them, really. 

“Master,” Kegan repeats breathlessly, his hands pushing against his back and over his sides and half a dozen other places, like he can’t quite decide what to do with the liberties Ryze is allowing him. “I want to—I want—” 

“I gathered, yes,” Ryze says. Kegan makes a noise that is very hard to ignore and kisses him again. Ryze kisses him back slowly, considering the wisdom of this, and Kegan shudders harder, his hands fumbling down to Ryze’s belt. He is, most certainly, not going to give him time to consider any more than he already has. 

Ryze almost catches Kegan’s wrists; almost stops him. 

Almost. 

“Master, Master,” Kegan repeats again, mouthing at his jaw. Ryze lets him pull his cock out and wrap an eager, calloused hand around it, and exhales slowly. Patience is not necessarily a gift Kegan Rodhe possesses, but Ryze can’t claim to be protesting. “Can I do more?” 

“You may be asking a bit late,” Ryze says dryly. Kegan kisses his jaw again. 

“Please,” he says, which isn’t a word Ryze is used to hearing from him and in fact possibly may _never_ have heard from him. He pauses, just for a moment, but then makes an assenting noise and leans back a bit, bracing a hand on the stone floor behind himself. Kegan leans after him and squeezes his fingers around his cock and _strokes_. His face is flushed and he looks as if _he’s_ the one being touched, which isn’t something Ryze understands but can’t deny the appeal of either. 

He takes another slow breath, and Kegan rubs his thumb over the head of his cock and tightens his grip on it. Ryze exhales, just watching him. 

“Master,” Kegan says, still looking so eager and practically _greedy_ , and then shifts back out of Ryze’s lap. Ryze regrets the loss a bit, but then Kegan’s on the cave floor and pushing his mouth down over the head of his cock and ah, well. Never mind that bit of regret. 

Ryze puts a hand on the back of his head. Kegan _moans_. 

His mouth is clumsy around him, as if it’s been some time since he’s done this or perhaps as if he hasn’t done it before at all, but he’s still eager and greedy and Ryze has nothing to complain about. He smooths a hand through the other’s hair and Kegan moans again. Ryze wonders if it really feels that good to him. 

It’s too easy to let Kegan do as he pleases for once, but he lets him do it even knowing that. Ryze watches him passively, not doing much more than stroking his hair, and Kegan swallows him down so far that he makes himself choke and has to pull back. 

“Patience,” Ryze says, though only mildly. Kegan spits on the floor in irritation or perhaps frustration, re-wrapping his fingers around his cock as he catches his breath. He looks stubbornly determined, which doesn’t always work out for either of them, but still Ryze doesn’t stop him. 

Perhaps he should, he thinks. 

Kegan puts his mouth over the head of his cock again and sucks tightly, and Ryze slides his hand down the back of the other’s neck. Kegan pushes into the contact as much as he can without taking his mouth off him, and Ryze just keeps watching him. He watches Kegan more than he should even under normal circumstances, and the idea of not watching him _now_ is . . . well, it’s just not happening. 

Kegan bobs his head. Ryze gives a quiet hum and lets Kegan interpret it how he likes. Kegan, apparently, chooses to take it as encouragement and swallows him down further again. It’s been far too long since he’s been touched, Ryze thinks, and still isn’t sure which one of them he’s thinking about. It’s safe to say it could be either of them. 

If Kegan is going to keep being so greedy for it, though, he’s going to let him. 

It takes some time, because Ryze can’t quite reach the kind of mindset that he vaguely remembers from a few years or decades ago, but Kegan remains stubbornly determined in his work. He sucks his cock and bobs his head and strokes what of him he can’t swallow with his hand, and eventually Ryze comes with a low, guttural grunt. Kegan chokes, and come drips out of his mouth. Ryze watches. 

It’s . . . worth watching, to be sure. 

Kegan straightens up and scrubs the back of his hand across his mouth, then spits on the floor again with his usual terrible manners. He isn’t scowling, exactly, but he looks like he is. Kegan so often looks that way. 

“Hm,” Ryze says, letting his eyes flick down the other’s body. He can’t see much of interest, given the way Kegan’s all wrapped up in cold weather gear, but he looks all the same. 

“That tasted like shit,” Kegan says bluntly, and Ryze almost laughs. 

“Mm, did it?” he says, though it’s hardly a real question. Kegan missed a drip of come at the corner of his mouth. Ryze, after a moment’s thought, reaches out and thumbs it away. Kegan stills. 

There’s no less tension in him, of course. 

“You did well, Kegan,” Ryze says, and drops his hand away from the other’s face. Kegan stares at him. Ryze supposes he hasn’t had cause to say that to him too often. 

“Master,” Kegan says with an intent expression, crawling back into his lap without so much as letting him fix his clothes. Ryze assumes he’s impatient for the favor to be returned, given how long it took him to come. He puts his hands on Kegan’s hips, and Kegan inhales roughly, his own hands coming up to grip his shoulders. His arms don’t wrap around him again, which Ryze considers something of a shame, but his grip is tight all the same. 

“Would you like to come now?” Ryze asks, the question more a formality than anything else. Kegan stares at him a moment longer, then nods jerkily. Ryze hums quietly to himself, stroking his hands across the other’s hips. Kegan’s patience is clearly not willing to wait for any kind of gradual approach, though, and he strips off his coat roughly and throws it aside, narrowly missing the fire. Ryze moves to slide his hands under his shirt, but Kegan’s already whipping that off too. His body is strong and fine, as Ryze already knew it to be, but it does strike a strange ember somewhere inside him to see it bared for these purposes. 

It’s been a long time since Ryze felt such things in any way more than passing, but Kegan feeds that strange ember in him simply by existing. 

This isn’t a good idea, Ryze thinks, watching Kegan kick off his boots and wriggle out of the rest of his clothes while pulling back as little as possible. But he’s had such thoughts about Kegan before, and this is only one more thing, no better or worse than letting him accompany him or teaching him or any of the rest of it. 

Perhaps, he can admit to himself, he is only thinking that because of the sight of the other’s body illuminated in the firelight. 

“You too,” Kegan says, and Ryze puts his hands on his hips again. Kegan inhales sharply, leaning into the contact and tugging at Ryze’s clothes again. Ryze allows it, and lets him undress him too. It’s not necessary, but the fire and their body heat has made their little cave warm enough, so there’s no reason to protest the gesture. 

Kegan puts a hand on his arm, his fingers curling against it. He seems, suddenly, to not know what to do. Ryze wonders why. 

“Better?” he says, and Kegan traces the tattoo underneath his fingers restlessly. 

“Yes,” he says. His hand slides lower, and he moves to trace another tattoo. Ryze catches him by the wrist. 

“Not that one,” he says. “It will activate.” 

“Activate?” Kegan repeats, a brief frown flashing across his face. 

“It is magical,” Ryze says. Kegan frowns again, his eyes flicking down to the tattoo and his fingers twitching once. _"Kegan."_

"I wasn't _going_ to," Kegan says unconvincingly. Ryze sighs. 

“Find something else to do with your hands,” he says, and Kegan pushes back into his lap again and wraps his arms around him and kisses him. It’s technically what Ryze asked him to do, but he wouldn’t have complained anyway. The floor of the cave is cold and hard beneath them and the tangle of their discarded clothes, but Kegan doesn’t seem to care and Ryze has dealt with worse for less. 

“I can do that,” Kegan says between kisses, his breathing picking up again. Ryze returns the kisses, letting his hands just barely roam on Kegan’s hips and down his thighs. Kegan moans into his mouth, clutching tightly at him and digging his nails into his back, grinding his cock against his stomach. 

He’s so responsive for so little, Ryze thinks. It won’t be hard to make him come at all. 

That’s almost regrettable, with how quickly it’s going to be over. 

He wraps a hand around Kegan’s cock, already smearing precome against his stomach, and Kegan makes such a _noise_. 

“Lovely,” Ryze murmurs, not meaning to say it. Kegan gasps, his nails digging in tighter and his hips stuttering into his hand. Ryze strokes him, spreading precome down his length, and Kegan chokes on another moan, his hands scrabbling for a better grip. He’s needy and strong and _wanting_ , and Ryze can’t quite pretend that doesn’t affect him. 

He was right, though; it doesn’t take more than a few slick strokes before Kegan’s coming between them and spilling all over his hand. He makes such, such noises as he does, and Ryze works him through it until Kegan is trembling in his lap and his noises are this close to whimpering. He hasn’t done this too many times, Ryze can’t help but suspect. He lets go of Kegan’s softening cock and Kegan leans heavily into him, still shuddering. 

Ryze allows it, because it’s been a long time, and because of that strange ember inside him. 

“S’good,” Kegan slurs thickly into his shoulder, body still loose and heavy. Ryze puts a hand on the back of his neck and he shudders harder. Ryze ignores the way that makes his own spent cock twitch. What a thing to shudder for, though. 

He lets Kegan stay in his lap to recover, stroking the back of the other’s neck and watching the fire burn lower and lower. Kegan curls around him and makes soft, almost longing noises that don’t seem very like him at all. Ryze continues to ignore his cock, which is itself entirely failing to ignore the warm and needy body in his lap. He’s more than old enough to dismiss that reaction as irrelevant, though. 

Eventually Kegan breathes out shakily, pushing his forehead into the crook of his neck. Ryze glances down at him. 

“Master,” Kegan says. 

“Yes,” Ryze says. Kegan’s hands flatten against his back, and he shifts in his position. Ryze’s cock, again, takes notice. Ryze, again, ignores it. 

“You’re getting hard again,” Kegan says, lifting his head. He’s not blind, so Ryze can hardly deny it. 

“I am,” he says, briefly debating if he should say more. He decides not to. Kegan has no reason to care what Ryze thinks of his looks. 

“Already?” Kegan licks his lips. Ryze’s cock _absolutely_ notices that. 

“It has been some time for me,” he replies neutrally. “That is all.” 

“It has?” Kegan says, putting a near-hesitant hand on his stomach. Ryze cannot _imagine_ what would make him hesitant, but dips his head in a nod all the same. He can’t imagine why Kegan would think it hadn’t been, given how long they’ve been travelling together now. It’s not as if he’s been sneaking off on him. “That’s . . . mm. If I’d known you’d let me touch you, I’d have done it months ago.” 

“Would you have,” Ryze says, just barely raising his eyebrows at him. 

“Yes,” Kegan says, and that’s not hesitant at all. He puts his arms around Ryze’s neck again and kisses him again, deeply. Ryze lets him, but doesn’t kiss back. 

“Never patient, are you,” he murmurs. 

“I want more,” Kegan says with fire-bright eyes, licking his lips again. “Master.” 

_Youth,_ Ryze thinks, a little wryly. 

“Go to the bedrolls,” he says, tilting his head towards them. Kegan gives him a searching look, probably making sure he’s not putting him off, then gets up and goes. 

Ryze gets up as well, feeds the fire, and then follows after him. They’ve spent enough time on the floor for one night, he thinks as he drags his own bedroll closer to Kegan’s. Kegan watches him, eyes glittering, and as soon as he’s done he grabs him and drags him down to kiss again. Ryze nearly over-balances. 

“More,” Kegan insists, pulling him down altogether and rolling them over, so Ryze finds himself on his back with Kegan on top of him and mouthing greedily at his throat. Ryze idly looks up at the smoke-stained ceiling of the cave, letting him put his hands and mouth where he likes. Kegan is as eager as before, though Ryze still can’t quite find the right mindset. 

Kegan _is_ lovely, though. 

“How much more?” Ryze asks, putting a hand on the back of the other’s head and then testingly sliding it down to the back of his neck. Kegan makes an aching noise and grinds their hips together. It’s distracting, but clumsy. 

“All of it,” Kegan pants, staring down at him with those glittering eyes. 

“Very well,” Ryze says, tilting his head back so he can see his pack beside their bedrolls and reach for it with his free hand. Kegan takes the excuse to mouth up his throat again, grinding their hips together harder, enough so it almost hurts. Ryze is impressed that it’s only “almost”, given that it’s Kegan. 

He pulls his pack over and opens it, and Kegan keeps biting at his neck and throat and grinding down into him with urgent little jerks of his hips. Ryze is more than sure Kegan could come like this, but as for himself . . . 

It’d take an awfully long time, put it that way. 

He searches for a moment, and comes up with a rarely-used little jar. It’s been some time since he’s needed it, but it isn’t particularly hard to find all the same. 

“Here,” he says, pulling it out of his pack and offering it to Kegan, who stares blankly at it but at least manages to restrain himself from too much grinding. 

“What is it?” he says, skeptical and still breathless. 

“Oil,” Ryze says, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

“. . . for what?” 

Alright, well. He was right about Kegan not having done this too many times, he supposes. 

“For more,” Ryze replies simply. Kegan’s expression stays blank for a moment, and then he startles. 

“Oh,” he says. “Oh! You’d actually—really?” 

“Yes,” Ryze says, though he thinks the answer’s already obvious. 

“I—” Kegan hesitates, glancing at the jar. “I don’t know how to do it right.” 

“I can show you,” Ryze says, and Kegan bites his lip, his face redder than the firelight’s been making it. 

“Which part?” he says. 

“Which part do you want?” Ryze says. Kegan looks pensive for a long moment, then flicks his eyes away from the little jar and looks at Ryze again. 

“Do it to me,” he says, which is not what Ryze expected. He doesn’t mind, of course—he can’t see how he could—but he would’ve thought Kegan would have certain _ideas_ about that kind of thing. He’s met his fair share of people who do, and Kegan is clearly only so experienced in this area. 

“Very well,” Ryze says, opening the jar. “Lay down.” 

“Alright,” Kegan says, shifting back a little awkwardly. He lays down beside Ryze as Ryze slicks up his fingers and sets aside the little jar where it won’t be in the way. Kegan watches him very closely. 

“If you dislike it, we can do something different,” Ryze says, just to be sure the other knows, and Kegan snorts at him. 

“You haven’t even _tried_ yet,” he says. 

“So you do not know if you will dislike it,” Ryze says. Kegan rolls his eyes, pushing himself up on his elbows. He looks as lovely as ever, even impatient like this. 

“Are you going to do anything or do I have to figure it out myself?” he demands, grabbing Ryze’s wrist and pulling it over towards himself. Ryze wonders if he’ll ever learn to wait for something he wants, but doesn’t intend to keep him waiting this time. This isn’t a lesson, or at least not in their usual way. 

“Very well,” he says again, shifting onto his side. Kegan makes an impatient noise and tugs at his wrist again. 

“Hurry _up_ ,” he says. 

“I would rather take my time,” Ryze says, dropping his hand between the other’s thighs. Kegan spreads them immediately, his knee nearly knocking into Ryze’s stomach. He’s as reckless as ever, even with something he doesn’t know how to do. 

“You always take your time,” Kegan says with a brief flash of frustration. 

“And you never do,” Ryze agrees. He considers telling him to roll onto his stomach or get on his hands and knees—the position would be better, really—but that strange ember inside him wants to see Kegan’s face during this, not in the least because he doesn’t trust the other to admit if something hurts or overwhelms him. 

Not in the least because it’s a lovely face, and he wants to see it far too often as it is. 

“No, I don’t,” Kegan says. “Come _on_.” 

“If you can be patient,” Ryze says. He gives Kegan what he’s asking for, though, and drops his hand lower and slides an oil-slick finger behind his balls to seek out his hole. Kegan gasps before he even touches it properly, tightening his grip on his wrist. “Sensitive, mm?” 

“Fuck!” Kegan blurts, which Ryze decides to consider answer enough. He rubs a circle around the rim of the other’s hole and Kegan immediately starts squirming, knocking his head back against the bedroll. _“Master!”_

Ryze considers telling him to just call him by name for the moment, but it’d hardly change their relationship, so he doesn’t. He keeps circling Kegan’s rim with his finger, not even making a move to dip in past it, and Kegan keeps squirming, his hips pushing back against the bedroll. 

“Master,” he chokes again, tightening his fingers around his wrist. Ryze watches his face for a moment. The expression on it is something he wants to remember. 

“Try not to tense up,” he tells him, and Kegan nods roughly, digging one of his heels into the bedroll. Ryze presses a fingertip inside him. Kegan visibly forces himself to relax. Ryze thinks about kissing him again, thinking the distraction might help, but doesn’t. He’s let Kegan do it first every time so far, and he doesn’t see the point in changing that now. 

“Don’t stop,” Kegan says, his voice hitching. Ryze doesn’t intend to, at least not yet. He rocks his finger in a little deeper and curls it carefully, searching for that one particular spot to concentrate his attentions, and Kegan starts panting again. He’s come once already and it still takes so little to get him to respond. Ryze can’t imagine how he’d be for his cock. 

Though he isn’t going to have to imagine, is he. 

He keeps stroking inside the other. Kegan moans. Moans louder. Then louder still. His hips lift up off the bedroll and his hands clench in it. Ryze thinks about kissing him again, but still leaves it in Kegan’s hands as to whether they will or not. 

Kegan seems distracted, understandably, so Ryze doubts they will. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Kegan says, clenching his teeth. Ryze slowly works another finger into him and Kegan lets out a desperate groan, arching up into his hand. “Oh, _oh_. That’s—that’s so—” 

So easy, Ryze thinks, back to watching Kegan’s face. He doesn’t say it out loud because Kegan might not take it as a compliment, even though that’s how he’d mean it. Kegan is a difficult man, though, and anything easy about him is worth complimenting. 

“What’re you _doing_?” Kegan gasps, screwing his eyes shut and pushing his hips up again. His cock is hard, even untouched, and his shoulders are shaking. 

“Does it feel good?” Ryze says. 

“Yes!” 

“The right thing, then.” 

“Master!” Kegan chokes. Ryze wonders if he could make him come like this, but it’s fairly obvious that he could. He wonders if he _should_ , which is the more pertinent question. 

He wouldn’t mind seeing it, so . . . 

“Kegan,” Ryze replies patiently, rocking his fingers in a little deeper and earning a new series of moans for the change. Kegan half-claws at the bedroll. Ryze keeps doing what he’s doing, and keeps watching his face. 

_Lovely,_ he doesn’t say, and shifts to wrap his other hand around Kegan’s cock and make him come all over himself. It isn’t hard. Kegan cries out sharply as his eyes flare wide, sounding shocked, and Ryze feels him spill over his hand and his own stomach but doesn’t take his eyes away from his face. That’s what he’s interested in. 

Kegan slumps back against the bedrolls, body limp and pliable and struggling for breath. Ryze gives him a moment, for all the obvious reasons, but Kegan barely takes it. 

“That _wasn’t_ showing me how to do it,” Kegan manages, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and still trying to catch his breath. 

“It will help you relax,” Ryze says. “Do you want to continue?” 

_“Yes,”_ Kegan hisses, his voice awfully sharp for a man who’s just come. He grabs Ryze by the shoulder with a heavy hand and tries to pull him closer, though there isn’t much room to get closer in. His fingers curl against Ryze’s back and he puts his teeth in his shoulder, right over a particularly dangerous tattoo. 

Patient as ever. 

“Let me, then,” Ryze says. He scissors his fingers carefully inside him, and Kegan hisses into his skin, teeth digging in. His grip isn’t quite as harsh as before, though, and his body isn’t quite so tense, so Ryze feels he made the right decision making him come again. Kegan is young; he’ll be able to go again, if Ryze does his job right. 

“Hurry up,” Kegan mumbles, his hips stuttering. Ryze turns his face just enough that his mouth presses against the other’s hair, though it’s no kind of kiss. He wonders what it would take to make Kegan slow down and truly relax, but suspects it’s something that doesn’t exist. 

At the very least, something that Ryze, unfortunately, doesn’t have. 

“Steady,” he says. He goes no faster. Kegan shudders roughly against him, shifting in as close as he can manage and biting his shoulder again. He doesn’t press him again, at least not yet, but he simmers with restlessness. Ryze is careful, though. He has no desire to make this painful. 

“Master,” Kegan groans on another shudder. Ryze is . . . not immune to the way his voice sounds. He may not be in quite the right mindset for all of this, but Kegan sounds very, very good right now. “Come _on_.” 

“In a moment,” Ryze says, slipping another finger inside of him. Kegan groans louder. His skin is flushed and his breath is coming faster, and he stays in close against Ryze, warm and strong and shaking, which is something else Ryze is not immune to. He can wait, though, so he does. He works Kegan open as carefully as he thinks the other will let him, and Kegan makes breathless, aching noises that make that strange ember burn low in Ryze’s gut. 

Kegan makes a _noise_ , and Ryze exhales into the other’s hair and curls his fingers inside him to hear it again. He gets it, but louder, and feels foolishly pleased with himself for it. 

“Lay back,” he says, finally pulling back from Kegan and reclaiming his fingers to reach for the oil again. Kegan makes a protesting sound, then seems to realize what he’s doing and immediately obeys. Would that he could always do that so easily. 

Ryze spares a moment’s glance for the sight of Kegan laid-out for him all heated eyes and stilted breath and simmering desire, because he is not made of stone, and then returns his attention to the oil and opens its jar again. He slicks up his neglected cock, stroking it to full hardness, and Kegan watches him do it. 

Ryze is not immune to that, either. 

“You will tell me if it is too much,” he says as he wipes his hand clean. Kegan nods mutely, which may be actual assent and may just be stubborn pride. Ryze moves to lean over him, and Kegan spreads his thighs for him. Ryze looks at his face, wanting to see his expression more than he wants to see his body. It’s more than worth it. 

“Come on,” Kegan says, reaching down between them to tug insistently at his cock, trying to guide it where he wants it. Ryze watches him for another long moment, then takes it in hand himself and takes over. He rubs the slick head of his cock across Kegan’s hole, and Kegan gasps, his head dropping back and hands flying up to fist in the bedrolls. 

Ryze pushes into him without further preamble, slow and steady, and Kegan screws his eyes shut and struggles for breath. His thighs squeeze Ryze’s sides, and Ryze runs a hand up one of his legs. It jerks under his fingers, then hooks around his hips. 

Kegan bites his lip roughly and pulls him _in_ , and Ryze lets him. 

“Master!” Kegan chokes. Ryze rocks his hips just enough for the other to get used to it, watching need and lust and shock all rush across Kegan’s face as he moves. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks as close to gently as he thinks Kegan will be able to stand, and Kegan shakes his head near-frantically. Ryze searches his expression for a lie and doesn’t find one, then puts his hands on the other’s hips to adjust their angle and lets himself thrust a little deeper. Kegan moans, arching up greedily, and lets out a hoarse little gasp as Ryze finds the angle he’s looking for. He sets a rhythm and Kegan meets it, starting out clumsy but quickly adjusting. It’s something physical, so no surprise there. Kegan may not yet be able to work with magic, but he can certainly work with that. 

He thinks Kegan would prefer this to be rougher, given what he knows of him and the way the other claws and clutches at his back, but that isn’t what Ryze wants himself. It’s been a long time, and he would rather savor this. 

So he does. 

Kegan clutches tighter at him, clings to him and digs his nails in so tight that Ryze is sure he’s going to bleed, and Ryze keeps an easy, languid pace as he thrusts. Kegan makes noises. 

Kegan makes _noises_. 

No, Ryze has no intention of being rough with him. 

He takes his time. Kegan moans and curses and claws and bites, and every moment of it is worth it. Ryze thrusts deeper, slower, and lets that strange ember flicker with a half-forgotten flame. Kegan doesn’t even try to be quiet, filling up the small cave with his cries and moans. 

Ryze watches the expressions that chase across his face and doesn’t care about anything else. 

“Master,” Kegan manages, and seems to latch onto the word. “Master, Master, _Master_ —” 

He mouths and bites at Ryze’s neck fiercely and tightens desperately around his body, still half-chanting “Master,” and Ryze realizes he isn’t going to have to do a thing to make him come again. He might not even need to touch his cock again, the way Kegan seems to be reacting. 

“Relax. Let it take you,” he says as soothingly as he dares to, and Kegan buries a whine in his shoulder, his own shaking. Ryze strokes a hand up his thigh and over the curve of his ass, and Kegan moans easily and urgently and keeps moving into him. 

Ryze presses his mouth against the corner of Kegan’s jaw in not quite a kiss, and Kegan whines again and shakes harder. 

“Gonna—gonna—” he stutters, and Ryze wraps a hand around his cock in a tight stroke. 

“Then do,” he says, and Kegan comes before he even needs to stroke again. Kegan shouts like a man taken by surprise, nails tearing across Ryze’s back and body tightening around him again as his eyes flare wide, and Ryze fucks him through it until his lust-addled cries break up into low, aching keens. He leans back and strokes a hand through Kegan’s hair, and Kegan blinks up at him stupidly with another cracked little keen. 

“Don’t stop,” he says thickly, squeezing his thighs against his sides, so Ryze doesn’t. He keeps thrusting and Kegan goes pliant underneath him, as close to calm as Ryze has ever seen him. There’s still a simmering there, though, because it _is_ Kegan, but he makes his body easy and receptive and Ryze—there’s an appeal to that, he can’t deny. 

Kegan told him not to stop, so he takes his time; doesn’t change his slow rhythm or hurry himself along. Kegan pants underneath him, clutching around him and still looking up at him, and Ryze looks back. Holding eye contact with Kegan as he moves inside him is almost more intense than the sex itself, and he’s not sure if that’s the vague distance in his mindset or . . . something else. 

“Don’t stop,” Kegan repeats before pulling him down. Somehow, Ryze is startled to be kissed. 

It’s a good kiss. 

Eventually, though, he can’t ignore his body’s needs any longer, and he feels traces of urgency overtaking both his thrusting hips and the kiss. Kegan moans into his mouth, digging his heels into his ass and urging him on. Ryze . . . Ryze is nearly overcome, though he can’t say quite what by. 

He thrusts harder and comes with a low, dirty grunt that he doesn’t mean to let escape, and Kegan gasps sharply, as if he’s somehow just as affected. Kegan kisses him, and Ryze lets him, then pulls back with a quiet sigh. Kegan blinks up at him again, and he makes a lovely sight, flushed and sticky and as close to soft as Ryze could ever imagine him to look. 

He sighs again and shifts to the side to sit and steady himself, and Kegan watches him. Ryze considers just laying down next to him and going to sleep, but . . . 

Well, he’s not sure what’s stopping him from doing that, actually. It seems as good an idea as any, under the circumstances. 

Kegan puts a hand on his thigh, and Ryze looks at him. 

“How was it, Master?” Kegan asks, and it takes Ryze a moment, but he understands the question is actually _“How was I?”_

“You did well, Kegan,” he says. Kegan doesn’t soften, but a faint tension goes out of him all the same and he pushes himself up and leans in to kiss him again, just barely harshly. Ryze, again, lets him. After a moment, he kisses back, and Kegan puts his arms around his neck and kisses him harder. 

They should clean up and check on the fire and sleep. Ryze is just distracted enough not to say that, though. 

They have time, he thinks. They aren’t going anywhere just yet. Outside, he can still hear the roaring storm, but in here, there’s nothing but the soft crackle of the fire and Kegan’s stuttered breaths. 

They kiss for a long time, until Kegan is leaning heavily into him and Ryze lets him push him down against the bedrolls. Again, they should clean up and check on the fire, but for the moment . . . 

They have time, for the moment. 

It’s been so long since he touched someone, he thinks, brushing a hand through Kegan’s hair as the other pushes into the point of contact. It’s good, he thinks, to share this with someone else who understands what that’s like. He wonders if Kegan thinks that too. Asking that would require not kissing him anymore, though, so he isn’t feeling any particular urge to. 

Ryze is wary of other people, always, and always his duty matters more, but it’s hard not to want to trust in something about Kegan—his stubborn student, and in some ways his friend, and in some ways something else, too. He wants to believe he’s right to want that, even if he can’t quite bring himself to do it. He wants to believe Kegan will learn patience and peace and how to use magic, that he will grow stronger and wiser and _better_ , and that Ryze himself will be there to see it. 

It’s a dangerous thing to want, but here in their warm, tangled bedrolls and the center of a bitter storm, with nothing else around them, he lets himself want it all the same. 

“Master,” Kegan rasps lowly, and yes, Ryze thinks. He wants that very much.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
